Lasting, W. D. Snodgrass

I do this once in a while, as I have a small audience of peers, and I do so without permission, and will happily remove content if asked. I Listen to Writers Almanac everyday and sometimes a poem just makes me smile in reflection. Especially the middle section of this particular one.

Lasting

“Fish oils,” my doctor snorted, “and oily fishare actually good for you. What’s actually wrongfor anyone your age are all those disheswith thick sauce that we all pined for so longas we were young and poor. Now we can affordto order such things, just not to digest them;we find what bills we’ve run up in the storedplaque and fat cells of our next stress test.”

My own last test scored in the top 10 percentof males in my age bracket. Which defiesall consequences or justice—I’ve spentyears shackled to my desk, saved from all exercise.My dentist, next: “Your teeth seem quite goodfor someone your age, better than we’d expectwith so few checkups or cleanings. Teeth shouldrepay you with more grief for such neglect”—